


On the Cusp of Trying to Kiss You

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/F, Fluff, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Nipples, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sound of high heels down the morgue hallway can only mean an administrator and that means trouble. But maybe, trouble isn't so bad at all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Cusp of Trying to Kiss You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Owned Every Second](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113901) by [Burning_Up_A_Sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun). 



> The title is a line in an amazing Arctic Monkey's song, 'Do I Wanna Know'. Please listen if you haven't. Anthea and Molly belong to someone else. i just like to play with them ;)

Taptaptaptaptaptap. 

The insistent tapping of high heel shoes bounced off the cinder-block hall outside the morgue, echoing in the autopsy room itself. Someone had a purpose, and experience had taught Molly Hooper that, whatever that purpose was, it wasn't going to end well.  
  
Molly and the technician looked at each other, torn between rolling their eyes because of drama or staring in fear. Not many people in high heels made into into the bowels of St. Bart's.  
  
“This isn't good,” Molly said, quickly. “Clean up the leftovers from lunch on that table!” Shit. No food in the morgue was another one of the thousand rules the Medical Examiner instituted when she took the job three months ago. Apparently, the administration frowned on the staff accidentally poisoning themselves.  
  
While the tech closed up the crisps bags and threw away the sandwich wrappers, Molly cleaned the paperwork that had grown legs and strayed from the work table to where they had eaten.  
  
The tapping came to a halt outside the morgue door, with three beats in between the stop and the door opening.  
  
Molly held her breath. What fresh hell in high heels would walk through that door.  
  
Anthea. What the...Why would Mycroft Holmes send her here? Plus, she hadn't even heard from Anthea since last week when Anthea spilled coffee on her, loaned her clothes, took her to dinner—well it was SUPPOSED to be dinner—and instead wound up in bed and in ecstasy. Well, Molly thought, when I say bed, I mean...  

“Miss Hooper,” Anthea interrupted Molly's pleasant memory. “Mr. Holmes sent me to collect those documents he requested. I hope THIS time you actually have them?” Her tone managed to be both condescending and imperious at the same time.  
  
Anthea obviously had put aside what they'd enjoyed together. Flustered, Molly dropped the file she was holding, papers flapping across the floor.  
  
“I'll get them,” the tech offered, not sure who this visitor was, but smart enough to know he was better off busy. He squatted down and quickly retrieved the papers that had scattered.  
  
Over his head, Anthea winked at Molly.  
  
“A little kindness would go a long way, Anthea,” Molly said forcefully. “Please wait here while I get them.”  
  
“God no. In this office, I have no idea what could happen in the time it would take you to get back,” Anthea said. “I'm better off coming with you.”  
  
Taptaptaptaptap. Anthea's stiletto slingbacks echoed as she followed Molly's sensible rubber- soled shoes up the hall to the doctor's office.  
  
“What did Mycroft want now? I didn't get any...”  
  
Anthea closed the door and clicked the lock. Molly turned back to her, brow furrowed, but as she pushed Molly against the locked door and pressed her body against Molly's, Anthea's purpose was clear.  
  
“I can't stop thinking about you,” she said, kissing Molly's lips, neck, nipping at her pulse point under her ear lobes. “About the other night. About how you taste.”  
  
Releasing her breath, Molly sighed at the touches she hadn't expected. Not forgotten then...  
  
Not breaking the kisses, Anthea slid her hands over her lover's arse tucked into the snug trousers, up under the jumper, sliding it over Molly's head, raising her arms and entangling her hands in the jumper, pinning them against the door.  
  
Molly opened her lips, letting her tongue seek Anthea's. Teeth nipping, mouth kissing at bruises they were too happy to leave.  
  
Anthea's left hand slid under Molly's shirt, searching for the lace of her bra. “Molly Hooper!” Anthea gasped. “You tart! You are braless! That's so fucking hot!”  
  
“You shouldn't talk. I know you. You're not wearing knickers,” Molly said. With her hand pinned over her head, she couldn't prove it, though.  
  
Anthea's eyes widened with her smile, proving the assumption true. She lifted Molly's shirt higher and flicked at the nub, pebbled from desire and need. She could tell from Molly's breathing and whimpers that Molly mirrored Anthea's own desire.  
  
Anthea kissed upward over the swell of Molly's breast, her slender neck, her soft cheek. She covered Molly's mouth with her own, her intention clear. As she parted her lips, she flicked Molly's tongue as a small reminder of what she could do...what she WOULD do, given the chance. Anthea pulled back enough to trace Molly's bottom lip with her tongue.  
  
“I have wanted to make love to you again since we woke up together,” Anthea whispered. “When Mycroft brought me here the next day, I know he and Sherlock deduced the hell out of us...and I had to pretend you hadn't fucked the life out of me." Anthea slipped Molly's sweater from her hands and dropped it on the floor.  
  
“Oh my GOD. I know Sherlock figured it all out just from my hair, or my make up, or that your perfume somehow was still on me,” Molly added, her tongue tracing lines on Anthea's slender neck to her sensitive earlobe. Without stopping, Molly unbuttoned Anthea's suit jacket and it slid to the floor. White silk shirt, fitted to Anthea's body, hugged her breasts.  
  
“How does Mycroft feel about you not wearing a bra?” Molly asked, stroking Anthea's nipples that responded quickly to her touch.  
  
“He _hates_ it. Says it's tawdry and low class. Frankly, I think it's because he's jealous because Lestrade looks too long!”  
  
“Mycroft and Lestrade?! Really!” Through the conversation, Molly unzipped Anthea's form fitting skirt knowing what she would find when the skirt hit the floor: an absolute lack of knickers. Today, her reward was lace top thigh-high stockings.  
  
“Hot. So. Fucking. Hot,” Molly said, slipping her finger into the lace band and pulling her closer. “I need you. I need you so much.”    

After pushing Anthea's blouse up high enough to take the hard nipple into her mouth and suck, hard enough to leave a bruise, Molly slid down, her hands tracing Anthea's curves. She settled on her knees, burying her face between Anthea's legs and wrapping her hands around her luscious arse. She flicked her tongue and found Anthea's clit wet with desire and need. Each flick of her tongue earned a moan, a hiss, Anthea's hand on her head stroking her hair.  
  
“Here. Step out of your skirt, and sit on my desk chair,” Molly said, breaking away for a moment. As she stood up, Anthea caressed Molly's body and pulled her closer. She brushed her lips over Molly's savoring her own desire on Molly's lips, before taking her into more. More tongue. Deeper kisses. Hands stroking, flicking nipples, gently pinching, twisting. Simple rubbing, roughened finger pad over sensitive nub.  
  
Molly eventually slid Anthea into the rolling desk chair, pushing it back against the desk to lodge it in one place. She parted Anthea's legs into a wide vee, and as she made her way back down on her knees, she dotted Anthea's body with tiny kisses and bites, some grazing, some deep enough to bruise.  
  
“Mine,” Molly said. “I did this to show anyone else. You are mine.”  
  
“I don't want anyone else. Please. I need to...I need...” Anthea's breaths were deep, her chest rising and falling more clearly as Molly trailed lower on her body.  
  
Molly pulled Anthea's bottom forward in the chair for better access. Her mouth blessed Anthea, her fingers sliding through the wetness and inside. Muscles tightened against the fingers, and as Molly's flat tongue slid against the tip of the clit, Anthea breathed, “Oh. my. Fucking. GOD.” Her body tensed and shivered as her orgasm wrapped itself around Molly's fingers.  
  
Finally, Anthea settled, her breathing ragged but slowly returning to normal, and Molly slid her fingers from the wetness. She twirled her tongue over the tops of her fingers, like she would with a cock head, and then dipped them back inside Anthea, and offered them to her. Anthea took Molly's fingers into her mouth, licking and pulling.  
  
“Jesus,” Anthea breathed, as Molly kissed her thighs through the stockings. “Come here, baby.”  
  
Molly sat down on Anthea's lap and curled into her neck. The vanilla jasmine scent (that now meant “Anthea” to Molly) rose more potently from the exertion. Molly contented herself with stroking Anthea's face and her soft, chestnut hair. 

“Come over tonight. I leave at 11,” Molly whispered in Anthea's ear, her warm breath tickling and enticing. “And bring clothes. It's Friday. Tell Robert he's got the weekend off; you'll call him when you need a ride on Tuesday.”  
  
“Tuesday?” Anthea asked, smiling. “Not Monday?”  
  
“No. Apparently, we will both be feeling ill on Monday. Would be best to take the day off just to be sure,” Molly returned her smile. “Definitely Tuesday.”  
  
She helped Anthea zip her bespoke skirt, tuck in her blouse and button her suit jacket. The stiletto slingbacks had never left her feet. Once again she looked like a proper businesswoman; it would take a Holmes to deduce what she had just done.  
  
Molly stepped back into her trousers, without knickers this time. She needed the friction against her full, thick clit right now. Maybe a quick trip to the loo. Lab coat back on. Tidied hair into a quick pony tail.  
  
Anthea tidied Molly's smeared lipstick with her thumb, and they headed back to the autopsy room. Rubber soles followed by Anthea's heels, which echoed up the hallway. How long had they been gone. Maybe the tech hadn't noticed.  
  
“Alright?” he asked. The two women nodded, not trusting themselves to speak. “Those shoes do echo in here,” he said, turning back to his computer screen with a smile, not bothering to say what else had resounded up the hallway.

 

 


End file.
